Spook
by CarpeDiemEveryday
Summary: Oneshot. A ghost's fascination with light leads him to a place where he truly belongs.


**Halloween is fast approaching, and a seasonal idea I've had bouncing around for a long time has finally clicked. Enjoy! **

**DISCLAIMER: Saying this out of habit more than legal reasons, but, yeah, I'm just a fanfic writer, it's not mine.  
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><p><strong>Spook<strong>

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><p>The dead leaves rustled on the tree's branches. He liked it when the wind did that. He tried to make his undulations match the wind, but it was difficult, because he could not feel the wind.<p>

That night, he was drifting along a row of houses, pausing at windows with lights in them. He didn't like light during the day; there was too much, with nowhere to hide. Lights in the night, however, were a different story. He would drift close to the houses, peering inside. He never went into houses anymore, though. It always ended in screaming. It was enough to hover and stare at the soft yellows and harsh whites, and those multi-colored walls of flickers, the televisions.

Recently, he had taken to floating up at the higher parts of the houses, so as not to scare the pokemon that sometimes guarded houses. While granbull were little threat, he did not like growlithe and their flickering flames. The windows up above were less exciting; most had shades covering the lights. Still, it was his habit to drift about the houses, and one in particular was worth seeing.

It was here that he now hovered, peering in through the window at the soft pink light. He had discovered this room two nights ago, and had learned just how mesmerizing the lights could be, for they changed colors regularly. As he watched, the pink shifted to a gentle green, one that made him feel safe and contented, at peace, as if nothing could be wrong in the world, so long as he could gaze at the green light, like leaves against a summer sun he hated to see...

It was not until the light phased to a deep blue that he realized his mistake. So taken was he with the light, so lulled, that he had floated through the glass toward it. His lower body undulations quickened in fear. He spun silently, surveying his surroundings. Besides the light, there were a few objects, a few dressers, he thought, and-

He froze, staring at the child's face, mere feet from his own. He had never seen from the window, never noticed the bed to the left of the strange, wonderful glowing light. He knew that children did not like him. They were part of the reason he did not go out in the daylight; their screams terrified him. He gazed at her, wondering why she did not scream. Then, he noticed that her eyes were closed. Relief washed over him as the light next to him shifted back to rosy pink.

In the warm light, the child looked at ease. Pudgy cheeks glowed pink with the aid of the light, and small hands clenched around what looked like a teddiursa, except that the teddiursa did not breathe, and the girl did. He drifted nearer to investigate. The teddiursa was made of cloth and stuffing. He wondered why the child clenched it to herself so tightly. He wondered what being held so close would feel like. He could not feel anything tangible, but he had always wondered.

Suddenly, impulsively, he dove into the cloth teddiursa, filling the space where the stuffing was, trying to feel the child's arms encircling him. At first, he felt nothing, and a great sadness overwhelmed him. Still, he remained in the teddiursa shell, straining to feel something, anything.

And then, it happened. First, there was new light, a blinding whiteness, brighter than sunlight had ever seemed. He pressed his eyes closed, but the brightness seeped through his lids anyway. He did not mind, however. He could not mind, because suddenly he could sense something warm touching him, something squeezing him close. He opened his eyes and was half-blinded by the whiteness, but through it, he could see the child's face, still and peaceful...

Except... it was no longer a still face that greeted him. Two eyes cracked open, the brightness revealing them to be a green the same color as the light just before it phased to blue. Two eyes widened. One mouth opened. One child screamed.

He ran. He ran so quickly that he did not at first realize he was running, rather than floating. He ran straight to the wall, crashing into it with a thud. But he was running on more than feet; new instincts exploded in his mind, telling him to leap into the darkness and escape the shrieking, the pounding feet, the sudden, unbearably harsh whiteness-

-falling out into a dark place, with his eyes still blind from the burning brightness. He staggered, unused to running, or feet for that matter.

"Speak of the devil and he shall appear!" The high voice startled him, and he overbalanced, falling to something hard and cold. "Pokeball, go!"

And abruptly, all feelings of the cool hardness were cut off as a dull red seized him. He did not know to struggle, did not know what to do. He was alone in a void and it was silent and empty. There was nothing to feel. And then he was on the hard cold surface again, feet first, staring up at a face made pale in the moonlight, a face belonging to someone who was not screaming. Next to her was a man whose face looked closer to screaming. Two pairs of eyes glinted with fear.

"Aw, looks like I've spooked the spook," the woman said, crouching, bringing her face nearer to his. "Are you all right? D'you know, I rather like that name, hm. Are you all right, Spook?"

He knew that "Spook" could only mean him. He was the only one she was looking at. He knew human speech, so he knew what she wanted, too. And he was all right, he supposed. Nothing was inherently wrong. Having feet was strange, but it did not feel wrong. In fact, it felt... right. It was as if he was always meant to have feet. He nodded.

The woman's face was lit up suddenly with a smile that, to him, seemed brighter than the moon. "I'm glad, Spook."

"Alice, can we get back to the house now?" the man asked. "It's great that you found your creepy little friend, but the show starts tomorrow."

The woman scowled at the man, then turned back to smile at him. "Don't mind that guy. I'm Alice, and I need you."

Those simple words made all the difference to him. He had never been needed before, nor had he needed anyone else. He had never considered it. But now, with the strange woman smiling at him, he felt a bond with her. He would do whatever she needed.

Her needs proved to be simple. For the next two weeks, she sat in a musty room in a rickety, unfamiliar house. She wore a white gown that made her look even paler than she had that night she found him, and her hair curled into bobbing ringlets that hung down past her shoulders. He loved to play with them, but mostly he was to stay still. She would stroke the top of his head with her soft, gentle hands, and he would sit in her lap as still as he could. When people walked past, she would ask in a strange voice if they would play with her, and it was then that he could move, could turn just his head to the passersby and smile.

It had upset him the first time, when they screamed. He had leapt into a dark patch beneath her chair and hid there, safe, immobile, while stomping feet approached the girl.

"Alice, I thought you said he was perfect!" he heard a man's voice shout; the same man from before. "He's more afraid of the guests than they are of him!"

"I know that, Mark," her voice - Alice's voice - snapped, and he was startled to hear such a harsh tone in a voice that was always melodious, though sometimes strange in its lilts. "I'll talk to him. It'll be fine."

The big man - Mark, he remembered - stomped off, and Alice glanced under her chair. "Spook, it's really not that bad," she soothed, her voice again soft and sweet. "Don't you know that the people are here to be scared?"

He crept out from under the chair, shaking his head. In an instant, he was gathered up in her arms, a gentle hand stroking his head again. He curled into her embrace. It was different from the child's; looser, yet with more of a sense of caring. The child had seemed like someone who needed comfort from embracing the stuffed teddiursa. Here, the roles were reversed.

"You're doing great," she murmured, and he believed her.

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><p>After that, there were no more complaints from Mark. Together, the banette and the woman performed the strange ritual over and over again each day. Every night, the sphere which canceled out the senses was left in the woman's purse, and the pokemon curled contentedly in her arms as she slept. The banette would occasionally think of nights spent drifting from light to light, but then the warm arms encircling him would tighten ever so slightly, and he would curl closer in response. Too soon, however, the white dress went into a trunk. The door to the musty room was closed, and Mark and Alice stood outside it having another discussion.<p>

"So, when are you getting rid of it?" Mark asked casually. "I already released all those litwick, oh, and that cofagrigus is also outta here." Mark shuddered, staring at what Alice held in her arms.

Alice glanced down at her arms too, smiling reassuringly. Then, her eyes turned cold as they faced Mark. "Not all of us hate this job," she replied, her voice cold again. "Some of us love it. Besides..." She trailed off, a small smile tracing her face. Her voice was soft as she murmured, "I like Spook. He's staying with me."

These words had a strange effect on what she held in her arms. Until then, he had merely responded to the name she had given him because she needed him to do things for her, and he was willing to. But this simple declaration made him realize that she _wanted_ him, for himself. It was this revelation that made him accept that he was Spook. Spook silently reached to wrap his arms as far around her torso as he could, and he felt her arms tighten in response. They stood like that, ignoring Mark as he shuffled out of the empty, dilapidated room.

Spook felt the warmth and the tightness of Alice's embrace, but more than that, he felt the meaning behind it. He felt the love of a master who would never abandon him, and he would never abandon her.

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><p><strong>As I said earlier, this particular story took some time to finesse (something like one or two Halloweens, actually). I'm pretty pleased with how it turned out, but what do you think? Feel free to let me know in a review.<br>**

**Thank you for reading, and have a delightful Halloween!**

**Carp  
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